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Aquarellia Ambercrest
Aquarellia Ambercrest serves in an ecclesiastical order known as the Witchbane. She acts as a merciless militant rooting out corruption and heresy within Stormwind City. Be it by guile or by blade, she will not rest until the city has been purified in the name of her goddess, Elune. The Death of Ashenvale Aquarellia was no warrior nor druid in her homeland. She was a sweet woman with no regrets who reveled in the freedom of the forest. It seemed to be an eternity of peace and passion, enjoying what sweet beauties the world had to offer. Her days were spent in the pools of the moonwells or upon the highest points of the tallest trees. She loved breathing that fresh air and feeling the sun bat upon her violet skin. At times she would visit the furbolg nations and skip through their streets, budding into their ursine culture where she could. Like the dryads, she was innocent and full of curiosity, caring only for the wildlife. Then it was no more. Years and years of warfare, destruction, and chaos ravaged the lands. Zombies turned her druidic kin into monsters, Orcs tore down the trees she so loved, and Demons took her very immortality. In such a short time she was no longer innocent – she was a survivor and a scavenger. From place to place she roamed hoping to survive the night. The Legion, the Horde, the Scourge, the Twilight's Hammer... enemies grew more and more numerous while her people dwindled and died. Finally, one day, she could no longer stand the blood on her hands. She no longer recognize what was once her home. It was done and there was no hope, so she left and never looked back. The Purgation of Stormwind Stormwind City was completely unlike Kalimdor. Its paved streets left blisters on Aquarellia's feet, forcing her to wear shoes. Its tall buildings were made of stone and its waters were not pure. Bells tolled every hour, but were drowned out by the masses wandering the streets. She had never seen so many people in one place, nor had she seen such a variety. Still, even with such differences, should could call such a place home. She could settle here free of torment and free of evil, or so she thought. The curtain draped over the eyes of outlanders was easily pulled aside after only a few days. That joyous, sunny sky was truly a dull grey. People were greedy and seeked to take everything from eachother. Criminals raped and pillaged unchecked while those sworn to stop them were weak and unworthy. In the night she felt no grace from her goddess as the moon's beams merely brought light upon the henious acts of the wicked. Once more she found herself trying to survive, and once more she lost hope. Order of the Witchbane When all else failed, she turned to what so many others did – the church. She walked up those stairs and through the foyer, only to find even more corruption in her wake. There was no salvation, no promise, and certainly no place for her. Whether it was divine fate or mere chance, she found solace in the company of the Witchbane, an order who swore themselves to destroying the very things that stole her livelihood. They represented that part of her heart that was locked away, cowardly hiding from the truth. It represented her need to fight back, and as those words of confession come from her mouth she was welcomed with open arms. Life changed seemingly in an instant and she had purpose, a need, a mission. Long, Hard Day Her training was no of anything brisk of easy, it was the most grueling and punishing treatment of her life. Months and months of waking up every day and learning more about the darkness behind the light, and being tempered to stop it. Each morning consisted of combat, but not in any fair manner. She was jumped, ambushed, harmed without any warning. Lies were spoken to her and she was sent on fool's errands that had no meaning. When the sun began to set she was not allowed to be exhausted. Swords, daggers, shields, and armor all beating against one another like a wicked orchestra filled her nights. Sometimes she got no sleep at all, forming heavy bags beneath her eyes. And then there was the torture, knowing the feeling of failure and knowing what it was to be captured by the enemy. By the end she was no longer broken, but stronger than ever. She was able to tear down the foes that threatened this new home and able to call herself something more than a wanderer. She was a witchhunter through and through, seeking and burning the heretics that plagued each and crevice and corner. As an idol of faith, she adorned the crest of a templar and eagerly praised the light. Category:Order of the Witchbane Category:Witchhunter Category:Night Elf